1
by MethodMarx
Summary: how it is, never how it was.


I knock then run my fingers through my hair; waiting, begging for the door to open and to see her. As if I dreamed it into life she opens the door and smiles. She's glad to see me, I think. She loves me, I know. I smile and mouth _hey,_ almost a hoarse whisper. She moves to the side as she opens the door wider and beckons me in with a smile, warm eyes and a slight exhale. Like me, she's always satisfied when I show up at her doorstep. It means I'm safe and there. Initially it was a thrill that somebody would seek her company and her space, but these days, lately, it's something a little deeper; a hope and a wait that only my presence can fulfil.

'No' I gesture with my hand. 'I mean I want to come in, I do, its just that I have something important I want to say and I think…its just that….if I say it here then it will be easier…less pressure and you can be completely honest…you know….for you….without worrying about me'.

She smiles. She's so beautiful. With one hand still on the door the other comes out to take mine. With a slight pull she tells me that 'anything important can be said on the comfort of [her] couch, or we could sit on the kitchen benches if [I'd] prefer something more formal, but not standing in the breeze of the door way and _not_ ' she tut-tuts me with her eyes and lowers her head towards me 'with [me] standing outside'. A final tug and I'm in. The door closes gently and she adjusts the hand that's holding mine. This both reassures me and suggests to me she knows exactly what I'm going to say.

'T'uh….you don't know what I'm going to say' I squeeze her hand and let it fall. Smiling at her I clasp both hands behind my back. I almost raise my heels before changing my mind and drop my hands back at my side instead. 'I mean you do know lots of things, you're the smartest, most cleverest and wonderful person I've ever known', I smile at her, 'but you don't know what I'm going to say'. Eye contact between us says I'm wrong. And that I know it. And that she knows that I know it. She knows exactly why I am here tonight. She knows exactly what I want and what I need. The 5.4, honey brown haired lady in cashmere sweater and cotton pants, knows exactly who I am even though there are many millions of thoughts and events I've never told her. She knows me, she knows my hopes and dreams, my deep fears and daily stresses, my thrills and my hates. Any one day she'll even know why, if I'm lucky. She already knows me better than anyone has ever and if I'm lucky – if I say it right, if I do it honest and proper like I've practised and like I intend - she'll know me better than I know myself.

'True. I do not know exactly what you are going to say. But I do very much want to hear it. Every word'. This makes my mouth dry. And I think she senses that which is why she only says 'so will you please come and sit down', not 'come and sit down and talk to me'. She's very good like that. She's skilled in the art of Jane Rizzoli; pull the reins too tight and the horse will buck but a gentle approach will get you everything – calm, confident and safe enough to stay and be. And she can spot bullshit, insincerity and false pretences a mile off. I would neither insult her intelligence nor our friendship with a lie. And its super hard, damn near impossible, to retract or retreat once I've let her know that there is something to be said. When the story is not complete it lingers between us and she is like a patient audience, waiting and comforting and providing.

I sigh and walk to the middle of the room motioning with my hand for her to sit on the couch, to listen and indicating that I should speak. "So", I say. I smile and sit down on an awkward angle next to her. I take one of her clasped hands with my right hand and begin to hold it in both. Rubbing it with my thumbs I think how beautiful she is and how happy I feel holding her, touching her. I slow my movement to a deep trace of the veins on the backs of her hands, extending her fingers with my touch and dancing my fingertips underside on her palm. I love this woman with all my heart. I want to kiss every bit of her a million times and then start over.

I must be staring and stilling now because she squeezes her hand, our hands, and says 'Jane is something….'

'No, there's nothing wrong. You were right the first time', I smile. Confusion crosses her face as if she's wondering whether I know how much she knows. 'I'm just nervous. And worried. And new'. She smiles understandingly, begins to speak and I cut her off. 'And vulnerable', I say. 'I don't do vulnerable. Even with you. I mean I do and I am. Because I want to be close with you. And I understand that closeness requires vulnerableness. So I do it. But I don't do it so I'm…well you know, the way I am'. I smile as she nods and looks to her lap.

'Fuck I love you'. My left hand grazes her cheek and tucks her hair behind her ear. 'I love you so much it hurts. But not badly. I mean impatiently and anxiously and yes, it does hurt sometimes but its not bad. Not ever. Its the best thing I've ever done. Loving you knowing you. Choosing you. It's the best thing I've ever done'.

She gives reassurance with a look. Like she's really proud of me. Although she knows I'm talking to her she doesn't act like it. Not yet. She just listens and lets me speak.

'And I do choose you. Now and forever….that's what I'm here to talk about'. I start to say more things like how I got home and wanted to be with her instead when she says my name.

'Jane'. And rubs her hand from my shoulder top to my blade.

'Hmmm'. I frown at her and she laughs moving her hand back up to my shoulder top.

I'm on a really awkward angle now but it doesn't matter cos she says the exact things I dreamed she would 'Its OK. I choose you too. I love you too. Its OK'.


End file.
